


Court Affairs

by Kayen



Series: most certainly illegal, definitely dissolute and possibly indecent [1]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: BAMF Loki (Marvel), BAMF Tony Stark, Background Relationships, Banter, Developing Relationship, Drunken Flirting, Enemies to Lovers, Flirting, Implied Sexual Content, Insults, Loki (Marvel) Does What He Wants, Loki (Marvel) Feels, Loki (Marvel) Needs a Hug, M/M, Marvel Norse Lore, References to Norse Religion & Lore, Sexual Tension, Sort Of, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony Stark-centric, no beta we die like men, reluctant allies to partners in crime to lovers, the court of alfheim isn't prepared for tony stark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-18 05:01:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28737693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kayen/pseuds/Kayen
Summary: Through an unfamiliar course of events, Tony ends up stranded on Alfheim, only to come across one God of Mischief on his way to, apparently, kill the King. Enter one extremely threatening left shoe, binding oaths, elvish ex-lovers and a whole lot of banter. To top it off, Tony Stark is ridiculously attracted to the most dangerous person around - a thousand year old space mage, and it is bothering him.Or, Loki and Tony cause chaos at an elvish court, because they can, mostly.
Relationships: Loki/Tony Stark
Series: most certainly illegal, definitely dissolute and possibly indecent [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2106882
Comments: 20
Kudos: 91





	1. the rambler, the gambler, the back biter

**Author's Note:**

> hi, "your highness" is a very attractive form of address

Tony's head hurt. Bad. He tried to remember if he had much to drink the previous night, but he couldn't recall. His bed felt uncomfortable and he felt a breeze on his face. He was expecting JARVIS to wish him a good morning and inform him if he had an unavoidable meeting to attend, or something of the sort, yet he didn't hear a thing from the AI. He did, however, hear crickets. He rolled on his back and opened his eyes. 

He was met with a forest of golden-barked trees adorned with light pink blossoms rising above his head. Suddenly he noticed the air smelt like flower pestles, he heard unfamiliar birds chirping, somehow he felt lighter and sunlight was coming from two distinct directions - the light seemed to have a different hue, too. He took an exceedingly deep breath, letting the clean air fill his available lung capacity, before softly exclaiming: “ _What the cheap-fantasy-novel-fucking-frick is this?_ ”

He heard an amused chuckle coming from somewhere nearby. “Alfheim, actually.”

Tony jumped to his feet, quickly removed his left shoe and pointed it in the direction of the concerningly familiar voice while his blanket (blanket?) fell from his shoulder. He assumed a threatening pose, left shoe in hand.

He was faced with a barefoot norse trickster, removing a ceramic cup from above a campfire.

“Loki?” Tony felt like he was about to faint, but it also might have been the apparent difference in the gravitational pull. He filed the thought away for later.

"Ah, you remember." Loki seemed too amused for Tony's comfort. Though, he wasn't certain if there was anything that could make him comfortable around Loki.

“Oh no. No! Not real, no! I swear to fucking god--”

“I'm afraid I cannot be convinced to perform any binding oaths involving yourself at the moment.” The god in question sweetly interrupted, before an understanding expression took place on his face. as he noticed Tony staring blankly. 

“We are in the realm of Alfheim, the home of the Ljósálfar, or how you might call them, the Light Elves. You have not lost any time, and you are not in any immediate danger.”

Tony chuckled darkly. “Not in any immediate danger? Sorry if I am having a hard time buying that with your would-be-conqueror self around.”

Loki stood up to his full height, a sombre expression on his features. He was looking Tony directly in the eye, which would've made the engineer uncomfortable, if he wasn't too distracted, marvelling at how brilliantly green they are. He should really work on whom he finds attractive.

“Does it seem likely to you that I would supply you with a decent place to sleep and make you breakfast, effectively keeping you alive, if I intended to harm you? However, I do understand you find me untrustworthy on principle. Many do so, and not always with a cause. Therefore, I give you my word.”

Loki stopped for a moment, calm and collected. Tony had spent two thirds of his life mingling with the world's vilest, and grew a radar for bullshit fairly quickly. Still, he had trouble getting through to Loki's true intentions. He decided not to be too hard on himself, as Loki had probably had centuries of practice in being a vile little shit. Said Trickster proceeded, looking at Tony from under his oh-so-long-and-dark-and-good-god-damn-pretty eyelashes. 

“I swear, on the All-Father himself, and the honour of the throne, that I will not purposefully harm you, whether it is through my action or inaction, and if I do, he may throw me in the deepest pits of Niflheim and leave me to rot.”

He appeared deathly serious, and yet expectant. Tony caught the smallest quirk of his lip.

“The word of a Liesmith, swearing on his jerk of an adoptive father? I don't think so. You don't give a rat's ass about Odin or his honour. Swear it on your mother, or your magic.”

Tony was surprised when he noticed Loki looked pleased.

“Clever, mortal. So be it. I swear it on the All-Mother.”

Tony grinned, the familiar game of words providing him with a sense of normalcy. He decided he liked banter with villains, and even more so if they were as pretty as the God of Mischief.

“Swear what?”

Now it was Loki's turn to grin, and Tony felt a slight tinge of pride, knowing not even a god could sway him that easily.

“Give me your hand.”

Tony blinked. And blinked again. He tilted his head and blinked a couple more times.

“What?”

Loki extended his hand, clearly inviting Tony to hold it.

“For the oath. You call yourself a genius?”

“Oh, okay. No need to be impolite.”

Tony gave Loki his right hand, not wanting to let go of his shoe, forcing Loki to switch hands. He noticed his nails were neatly manicured and polished with a coat of matte black. Loki´s hands were cold. They were closer now, and holding hands, and looking each other deeply in the eye, and Tony was somehow still exhausted, perhaps because he switched realms in the course of a night, and he felt lightheaded, not used to handling things seriously. 

His mind was whirring with ideas, questions, theories, he felt a foreboding sense of disaster, ridiculous attraction to an extremely dangerous space mage, and a hasty attempt to normalize his situation. 

It hit him that everything holding him in place was gone, and in one Alfheimian forest, he owed nothing to anyone. 

But then Loki began proclaiming his oath and he needed to focus once again.

“No harm will come to you, by any action or inaction of mine, and I will do the best in my power to protect you, within reasonable boundaries of not irreversibly damaging myself in the process. If I should break my promise, I will _rip my seidr from my very soul with my own two hands_ , and haul myself into the deepest pit I can find. So swear I, Loki Liesmith.” 

He near-hissed the last part, and Tony felt chills going down his spine as a thin band of emerald enveloped their grasped hands and then disappeared as quickly as it appeared. 

“Does that please you, Anthony Stark? Or should I slay a boar and make the oath in blood?”

Tony lowered his shoe.

“Yes, yeah, it does. Thank you. For the stuff before, too.”

The whole of Alfheim suddenly felt too small as it dawned on Tony that he made a millenia old space mage make an oath on his mother, and that said oath consisted of, among other, ripping things from one's soul. He felt overwhelmed, and decided to focus his attention to tying his shoe, now back on his foot.

Loki seemed to have a similar idea, as he went to fetch the ceramic cup he left on a coffee table. Tony wondered whether coffee tables were an item commonly found in Alfheimian wilderness.. He returned moments later, with two cups instead of one.

“Would you care for a cup of tea?”

Tony never drank tea with (apparently) former super-villains, so he accepted. He was starving and his throat was dry. He sat on the grass, next to Loki.

“Yeah, thank you.” Tony smelled the warm steam. “What kind of tea?”

“It's a native plant. Should set your hunger as well.” He smiled. “Not poisonous.”

He didn't exactly know how one should start conversations with former enemies, so he raised his gaze and thought he should try to deduce a thing or two about his not-dead rescuer. Loki wore an emerald shirt, with neat embroidering around the stub collar, which he wore unbuttoned. There were silver rings on his hands, and his clothing looked slightly wrinkled. 

His hair was tightly braided in a viking-ish do, and it was much longer than the last time Tony saw him. Soon he caught himself getting more distracted than he initially planned, so he turned away. He decided asking questions is his next course of action.

“So, uh…”

Loki was now looking at him attentively.

“Any idea about the, um, hows and whys of me being here?”

“None at all, Stark. I didn't wish to let you die in unfamiliar wilderness, so I provided you with a makeshift bed and nourishment, but I do not know anything more that you do.”

Tony clicked his tongue. “Aight. So you just… found me?”

Loki looked at him with raised eyebrows, smiling.

“I rescued you from a gang of ravenous man-eaters, preparing to consume you in a religious ritual in honour of the sibling suns, actually.”

“You know, I would be fully prepared to believe that.”

“Good.”

They looked at each other for several moments longer and Tony contemplated how likely Loki was to murder him if he resolved the awkward communication issue with a makeout session, yet having decided his chances of survival are probably hither-to-none, he gave up. Perhaps sometime later. Loki took another sip of his tea.

“I found you sleeping at the same place where you woke up, except you were laying on hard ground. I set up camp, as I had been walking for several days. I was curious, but I did not intend to perform any magic on you to find out the “hows and whys”, as you'd put it, without your consent. I could if you wished.”

Tony was prepared to accept that as truth, though Loki made no promises about lies. That is one loophole he probably should've thought about earlier. He wasn't too concerned, though, as lying is, hopefully, considered an action, and Loki did say “action or inaction”.

“I'm not… that comfortable with magic on myself. I think I'll stick with a mystery, for now at least.”

Loki simply nodded. The impression he gave off was final, yet Tony wasn't prepared to face whatever awaited him once common sense hit him.

“Soooo, magic bro! How have you been?”

“Not dead.”

Loki rose from his seat and began packing his belongings, storing some of them in a leather over-the-shoulder bag, and vanishing the rest in flashes of green.

Tony settled in the no-talk routine, deciding to use the time to arrange his own thoughts. Which did not mean he didn´t ask questions, he simply did not get much answers, only more riddles, and, frankly, did not wish to embarrass himself by expressing the assumptions he did have. As far as he was concerned, he was an official Earth representative - a role in which he did not intend to disappoint. 

~~

They had walked for several days now, making short stops from time, and though his day-to-day life was as simple as it could get, with occasional quick exchanges of words with Loki to keep him sharp and on his toes, he began feeling slightly… lost. Literally. As he had no idea where they were travelling on foot for so long.

He vividly recalled asking _“Oi! Where in the Lord of the Rings are we going?”_ , only to hear _“To kill the king, obviously.”_ . It was at that point he deeply regretted asking “ _What-- Why?? And how?_ ”, as the soon-to-be-kingslayer replied _“Fun, primarily. He is also exceedingly bad for the economy. We should reach his court by the next new moon."_. With a smile on his face, naturally.

Tony was lounging in their better-than-human-made tent, and looked at the moon in the sky to see a thin line on the edge of a completely black circle. The makeout session also had not yet taken place, sadly. Loki was distant and casual at the same time, and Tony never knew how truly casual they were, and the uncertainty bothered him. 

The next day, he saw a tall castle rise in the distance. He turned to Loki and spent several seconds simply admiring his mane of raven hair battering around his face in the wind, before he realized he needed to run a few steps to catch up.

“Hey! Scary space wizard! How do you plan on getting in there? Castles have like… guards and stuff?”

Loki stopped and turned on his heel. He wore a thin white flowy shirt under an emerald vest, neatly embroidered and reaching his knees. His leather breeches were tucked in laced boots and a thick velvet cloak was fasted below his chin. His hair, reaching half his back, was formerly neatly braided, but the only thing that remained were two braids around his ears, the rest of his hair ruffled and wavy. His black nail polish was beginning to chip and his dark eyeliner was smudging thanks to several days of neglect. He seemed to summon his daily clothes from the void. Tony was staring, obviously.

“In through the door, how else?” He smiled and Tony noticed dimples on his cheeks.

“ _In through the door_?? You-- Bastard!”

Tony was still wearing the same clothes he wore when he found himself in the unfamiliar realm - a pair of ripped jeans, a graphic tee and a black blazer. Loki decided to spare some of his seidr to provide him with a magical quazi-shower every few days, so his clothes looked decent enough. They passed across a narrow stream about halfway through their journey, and Tony hoped Loki would suggest they bathe, as the way Loki buttoned (or to be more precise, did not button) his shirts gave him whiplash. He would be extremely glad to resolve that pressing dilemma. 

When his stubble began to bother him, as Tony Stark was no Tony Stark without his really-cool-seriously-you-wish-you-were-this-cool facial hair was no Tony Stark, he asked Loki is he has a razor to spare, and perhaps the mage didn't even grow facial hair, or he was simply being a bastard on purpose, as he handed him a thin dagger from his leather garter along with a chunk of glass and wished him _“Good luck, mortal”_ with a grin on his face. Tony thought he managed quite well, despite several thin cuts on his cheek. 

They reached the castle by evening and Tony was about to whip out his previously prepared I-was-kidnapped-by-a-mad-sorcerer-and-he-is-holding-me-hostage act when Loki took a sharp turn and guided them around the castle. Walking around the castle took longer than expected and Tony was beginning to notice how truly tired he was, while attempting to absorb all he could. 

The castle looked like it used to be pearl while, but was now slowly becoming grey. Its towers were covered in moss and greenery, but he could still see the unique architecture beneath. The numerous towers seemed to curve around themselves, and the windows followed the curved lines. He noticed intricate mosaic designs with natural motives, yet they seemed dull and aged. 

Loki guided them to a partly obscured door - he had to lift a curtain of green vines for Tony to even notice it. 

“You didn't say _back_ door. And here I thought you lost your mind.” Tony looked up at the mage, thinking about how his boots must have a heel - he isn't that short - when he simply grinned at his wit and knocked at the door - three short knocks, one long one and Tony wondered if there is an Elvish equivalent of Morse code.

Before he had time to ask, the doors opened with a creaking noise and a tall elf peeked through, smirking when he noticed Loki.

“And what, I wonder, is Ormstunga himself doing at the servant door of the Court of Alfheim?” The elf turned his sparkling, yellow gaze to Tony. “With a human?”

Loki looked as if he was trying very hard not to break into giggles (Tony thought he must be going mad) and then smiled, looking the elf straight in the eye.

“I believe I am here by invitation from Prince Hylas, he requested my assistance with his revolutionary patricidal ploy. Though, I could think of several different reasons.”

Tony was confused for a few seconds, but then he took in the way Loki and the elf were smiling at each other, as if they knew a secret he was not in on, and the thin golden diadem around the elf's head, the way his hair was braided with what looked like bronze wire, and the embroidering on his vest - the same pattern like that which graced the mosaics on the windows - and immediately bowed his head, not wanting to leave a bad impression.

“Prince Hylas! Tony Stark of Midgard, I come bearing no ill intentions, and hope your hospitality may be extended to me as well.”

Loki and Hylas first looked at him, stunned, then broke into a fit of laughter. Tony threw his hands in the air, cursing Thor for making him think stuck-up, formal ways of address are customary in the rest of the realms.

“What? What did I fucking mess up now? Fucks sake.” He was frantically looking at the princes. “Was I supposed to say _Your Highness?_ _Oh Mighty Elf Prince,_ will you grace me, a simple Midgardian, a _feeble excuse for a living thing_ , with the gift of your godly hospitality? If not, I **will** fling myself off your towers head-first, no persuasion needed, because my legs are **fucking killing me** and I had enough dealing with god fucking damn stuck up royalty. **Fuck!** ”

Tony was out of breath by the time he finished, realiying how much pent-up rage he had from days of directionless travel and Hylas simply looked at him with a grin, _fucking damn him_ , but Tony was glad to notice he didn´t look _too_ condescending. 

“Your reputation precedes you, Stark. Your name is not unfamiliar among the people of the Nine Realms. The ones worth their salt, anyways. You are welcome here, though, for your safety, I hope you know how to keep a secret.”

Nobody said much after that, Hylas simply guided Tony (still wondering how to process the fact that he is a known persona among the crème de la crème in more realms than one) and Loki through narrow hallways, though Loki didn't appear to require much guiding, until they reached a light wooden door and entered a comfortable looking room.

“You should find these quarters perfectly hospitable. Rest. It has been a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Tony Stark of Midgard, or should I say, _a feeble excuse for a living thing_? No insult intended, of course.” Hylas was looking at Loki, twirling a strand of his sandy hair around his finger. Tony glanced at his hands and noticed a dark jewel on his finger - it appeared to be filled with a deep scarlet mist.

“Rude, Your Highness. None taken.”

Hylas was still distracted.

“My court physician has a charming apprentice, fond of mischief. He ensured your comfort, and kindly encouraged you to request their help, should you need anything. His name is Varka. You know the way, Ormstunga.”

He gave Tony a hesitant smile, and suddenly he noticed the depth of the Prince´s weariness. There were dark circles under his eyes and his face fell into a pained expression.

Loki simply nodded in understanding.

Tony looked around the room. The space was covered in patterned shawls and filled with seemingly discarded items. Thick books and even thicker tomes, which appeared older than Tony himself. He noticed a cluttered desk, covered in glassware and scientific instruments yet unknown to him, which his fingers itched to tinker with and understand. There were large scrolls on the floor, and when he unraveled one he recognized a map of the realms. 

He once dragged Thor to his workshop, wanting to be privy to Asgardian knowledge, yet he was left disappointed, as the Thunderer was scarcely interested in science, and what he did know, he had a hard time conveying to Tony in a mutually understandable way. Thor was far from stupid, but it seemed that Asgard was fond of naming things in a manner that sounded more like spells and magic and concepts that were foreign to Tony, rather than scientific terms. He did, however, draw a simplified and rushed version of what Tony was looking at right now, in pencil on a torn page of his barely used notepad.

He was burning to find out all that the room had to offer, but he was far too tired. He noticed Loki had removed his vest and unbraided his hair, and seemed to be leaving.

“Where ya goin', Trickster?”

Loki turned to face Tony from the door, and his lip quirked in amusement.

“To properly greet the Prince, obviously. You may be tired, but it is still early, and I do not tire as quickly as you do. He is an old acquaintance, and I would like to ensure us a pleasant stay.”

The Trickster looked relaxed, comfortable, and Tony wondered if there is a history there he is unaware of. He thought of all the centuries Loki must have lived through and wondered how many stories he has to tell. Something told him this particular one was especially interesting.

“Alright, yeah, but shouldn't I be present too?”

“You could, if you wished. But perhaps… not today. You will make your formal introductions tomorrow, or the day after. Perhaps we will be invited to a court feast.”

“Oh, yeah, that sounds good.”

“Farewell, Stark. Do not wait up, I will most likely return late.”

Loki left, and Tony no longer felt like sleeping, so he picked up a book from the nearest pile, expecting to find unfamiliar scripture, yet as he opened, the runes within switched to familiar latin script. He decided to file that question away for later, and sat on one of the two beds in the room, wrapped himself in a thick patterned blanket he found on the edge of the bed and began to read.

~~

Later, in some ungodly hour of the night, he heard the quiet creaking of the wooden door and opened his eyes, as he was very near to falling asleep, already having extinguished all candles, which were lighting the place, but one, which he left for Loki to find his way in darkness. Though, he suspected Loki had some more pretentious version of the lumos spell to help him with the dark.

The sorcerer in question sauntered in, looking distinctly more ruffled than when he left. Tony noticed he must have lost his vest somewhere along the way, and his shirt was unlaced to the point of not-quite-decent, in comparison to his previous halfway-laced look. He carried his boots, which did, indeed, have a heel, and he was closing the door with his shoulder, while tying his hair in a messy bun when he noticed Tony. Tony couldn't help but smirk at the god, yet he quietly hoped he wouldn't make him uncomfortable. He thought disheveled was a very good look.

“The Prince is an old acquaintance, is he?”

Luckily for Tony, Loki didn't seem to be self-conscious about who he spends his time with, or at least he made it seem like it, and simply raised an eyebrow, feigning cluelessness.

“That is what I said.”

Tony chuckled.

“There's a bite mark on your neck. And another one on your collarbone.”

Loki was smiling now, and Tony realized he smiled quite often, something he found quietly endearing, in a way that promised to haunt him later.

“Is there now?”

Tony took his chance to appropriately run his gaze over Loki, as innocent as he managed to fake.

“Yup. Can see it, pretty clearly.”

Loki tossed his boots aside and grabbed a glass bottle from the cluttered table, full to the brim with sparkling pink liquid, which didn't look as bad as some stuff Tony ingested in his organism, but didn´t look perfectly safe either. And then there was the fact he randomly picked it up from a table full of what looked like part sky-watching equipment, part an alchemical workshop and part a spice rack.

He popped the cork of the bottle. Tony was concerned.

“I got reacquainted.”

“Is that now you handle all your diplomatic negotiations --- _are you seriously going to drink that?_ ”

Loki huffed and took a large swig, straight out of the bottle, then regained his composure as quickly as non-humanly possible.

“Only the handsome ones. And yes, I will, it's perfectly safe, even for your mortal body.”

He seemed to lounge around the table, picking at the instruments. Dallying.

Tony suddenly felt restless, especially while looking at a literal god, leaning on a wooden pillar, twirling the bottle in his pale hand. “You could've come to Midgard with that attitude, it'd do you better. And our…um…” He tossed his book on the bed. “General population. Also that -” He pointed vaguely at where Loki was carelessly holding his drink. “- just looks weird.”

Loki turned, walking towards a cupboard full of suspicious-looking glassware.

“My apologies, then, but I am afraid, when one is being mind-controlled, there aren't many free afternoons to spare for coffee dates. Would you care for a drink?”

Loki raised two clear glasses, inviting Tony to join him.

“At this ungodly hour of the night? Of course.”

They settled on the floor, next to a coffee table, sitting on soft cushions. Loki brought the bottle of the unfamiliar drink and set it on the table, before making himself comfortable, and Tony followed after him. He was waging his chances for a moment or two, contemplating how he found himself in his current situation. Reason never worked well with him anyways.

“So what you are saying is that it wasn't the lack of handsomeness that prevented you from getting it on - on Earth? Also is that alcohol?”

Loki filled his glass and downed it in one go.

“Yes. I tell you I had been mind controlled and you ask if I find you attractive?”

Tony was aware of all the things that laid unpacked there, but he knew this was not the time, nor the place, nor the level of comfort they needed.

“I knew that already, figured it out.” He couldn't help but be only a bit proud of himself. He took a slow swig of the drink. Surprisingly, it didn't taste half bad. Loki was a man of excellent tastes, after all, and would probably gut him if he insinuated otherwise.

“Anyways, back to the point. You find me attractive?”

“I have not said that.”

Loki's tone practically dared Tony to inquire further.

“Yes, but I mentioned handsomeness and you drew the conclusion I was talking about myself. See - “ He tipped his glas towards the god. “There is a clear connection in your mind.”

The god only smirked, somehow taunting with his controlled resignation. Count Tony as one never wilfully resisting temptation.

“So, do you find me attractive?”

Loki poured himself another glass of his drink and Tony noticed the bottle always looked full. Handy.

“Do you enjoy being worshipped, Tony Stark? I should have your head for such insults to my character.”

Tony drummed his fingers on the table, downed another glass and enjoyed the way it passed right through him.

“Entirely irrelevant. What you are is a presumed-dead fugitive, clinging to age-old status privilege. Nobody would support that decision.”

Loki grabbed Tony's jaw, not violently, but in a subtle warning. His eyes flashed gold and Tony felt Loki's finger trace his pulse.

“I do not need support to have your head. And I have spent a thousand years building a reputation separate from any remains of my formal royal position. I owe nothing to you, mortal.”

Tony did not back down, but rather leaned even closer, whispering in Loki's ear.

“I know, Prongs, I'm joking, but you're damn wonderful when you're like that. And I'm a mortal with an inter-realm reputation, thank you very much. You can have my head on the singular condition that you do not damage my neck, as you only asked for the head and no more.”

“Am I now?” Loki let go of Tony's jaw, once again looking like nothing had transpired, and his tone turned poisonous. “How clever you are. Your inter-realm reputation is made out of the wet dreams of thieves and scavengers, hoping to take a bite of the famous mortal Merchant of Death and his flashy armour. You have no value as a mercenary, nor as a slave of any sort, nor would anyone grace you with a managerial position, so the best you could hope for is to be discarded to a battle arena to fight bligesnipes for scraps. Only the aristocrats know of Tony Stark, and they would throw you to the wolves for a trade deal without a second thought.”

Tony rolled his eyes and chuckled at Loki´s biting retorts.

“Sweetheart, I've been in the trade business on Midgard for decades, I know how the game works. You like your tongue, don't you?”

Loki set his glass on the table. “You'd like it better.” He winked. Tony wanted to wipe his smirk off his face.

Tony threw the remaining contents on his drink straight in the mage's face, enjoying the split-second moment of surprise. Then, he picked up Loki´s glass and threw the drink in his own face.

“I needed that.”

He lunged in, knocking over the coffee table and kissed Loki with liquor still on his tongue. He grabbed the Trickster´s wrists and pinned him against the floor, climbing on top of him and grasping his jaw, Loki´s hands rushing to hold him up by his hips. He lowered himself and leaned in, and only then did he stop to breathe, gasping words between kisses.

“...fucking hate you...fucker.”

Loki was simply revelling in the moment, teasing and humming in pleasure.

“You wouldn't want me any other way, would you?”

Tony thought it was a downright sin for Loki to keep talking while he was… getting down to business, so to speak, but he was right, he loved it too. Everything about him was sin, after all, and though Tony never thought himself to be a man of religion, he considered pleasure a faith, and he would kneel at this altar any day. Loki´s hands were on his jaw, and on his neck, and his collarbone, and his lips were leaving marks, his nails dragged over his skin, hoisting his shirt up and leaving thin scratches, he felt like Loki set a fire within him.

“Oh I know a few ways I want you, all right.”

Loki relaxed on the floor, laughing, his long hair splayed behind him.

“Oh, do tell.”

Tony stood up, sat on his heels and Loki followed, Tony holding him by his back.

“Well, to begin with, take that lovely shirt off, it's been torturing the soul out of me for the last fucking fortnight.”

Loki chuckled, pulling the light garment over his head and throwing it somewhere behind him.

“Gladly.”

Tony took a deep breath, wondering what he must have done to deserve a god in his bed, because Loki looked every bit a god. He looked as if sculpted by the best hands in Ancient Greece, and his hair was long and wavy, and a bit of a mess, and his eyes were green, so god damn green he felt like they saw right through him. Loki's hand was on his hip and he felt his fingers, thin and cold, touching him with such care. The idea that Loki has probably slain countless warriors with those hands, and yet he chose to touch Tony so gently made him lightheaded.

“How your room must've looked when you were a kid when you throw all this shit around, like I know it´s dramatic and you´re a dramatic little bitch but I mean - “

Loki kissed him. And not exactly chastely so.


	2. Kings of Old

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki talks a lot in this one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> possible tw for non-graphic torture / body horror, kidnapping - nothing happening to the MCs, Loki tells a story

When Tony woke up, he was comfortably tucked in one of the soft beds. Light shone through windows he took no notice of when they arrived the night before, comfortably in shrouds of darkness. It seemed to be coming from two separate directions, and the leafy pattern on the tall windows reflected on the carpeted floor. He could see dust in the air, which smelt sweet, not unlike the forests. The room must've been located in a tower, as it had a distinctively round shape. 

He turned on his back and caught sight of Loki, still sleeping soundly. He must not be too sensitive to the cold, as he slept in soft linen pants only (emerald green, obviously). The dim light fell on his body in a very aesthetically pleasing manner. Tony caught himself gazing in quiet admiration, strangely at peace.

He rose from the bed, determined to try and find anything familiar to eat. He looked through several cabinets, and though he did find several jars with vaguely organic-looking contents, he did not feel especially daring. He was fiddling with a drawer when he heard rustling sounds behind him, followed by Loki's still hoarse bed voice.

“The servants most likely prepared something for us to eat. Can't have their guests feeding on stale alchemical supplies while staying on a royal court. Check the small desk left of the door. There's a small window above it, so food can be delivered without disrupting anyone's privacy.”

Loki's hand was covering his eyes. Not a morning person, then.

Tony looked where Loki had directed him, and, indeed, found a wooden plate with food he could recognize. There was bread, bread spread in a small, also wooden bowl, grapes and other fruit he didn't recognize, and a decanter filled with red wine, along with two glasses. He heard Loki rising from the bed. 

His hair was wavy and slightly tangled, and he decided to stick to his light ornamented quilt, and wrap it around himself like a quasi-toga. Tony thought he looked like an ancient god, which yes, he was, but distinctly more Greek than Norse. Tony wondered how Asgardians went into battle, because he would definitely love to see Loki fight in a Spartan-style outfit, but then remembered the ensemble Thor always wore to battle, and Loki's clothes from New York, and was sorely disappointed. He was tempted to run his fingers across every line and shadow on Loki's body once again, and maybe, once he returns to Earth, hire someone to sculpt him. The speed at which he was turning into a Romantic was slightly concerning.

“Put that on the table, would you, dear?”

He was drawing chairs for them, apparently not planning to wear something that made him look less like a chthonic deity.

“Don't you ' _dear_ ' me, there isn't any empty space on that damn table. I will not risk getting eye of newt or something just as slimey into my food, thank you very much.”

Tony was wearing the clothes he dug up in one of the chests with quilts - a blouse with shank buttons, unbuttoned, along with a silk robe reaching his knees, and matching pants.

“Alright then, _darling_. You do know 'eye of newt' is simply an overly dramatic way to refer to mustard seeds, don't you?”

Loki simply waved his hand, and Tony observed in fascination as the clutter neatly floated off the table, settling in matching cabinets and drawers, without any disturbing sounds indicating breakage.

“Thank you, _sweetheart_. Now be a good boy and pour us some wine, would you?”

Loki seemed to have turned off and on again. Still, he poured said wine and snapped his fingers once again, and sliced the bread. Tony rolled his eyes.

“You could have done that perfectly well with a knife! Aren't you supposed to not waste magic on trivialities?”

The mage scoffed, taking a bite of his bread.

“Aren't you supposed to not waste words on all those useless ramblings of yours?”

Tony popped a grape in his mouth.

“Well, yeah, I just choose not to. You, however, could try taking your own advice occasionally.”

Loki laughed, leaned back on his chair, and his sheet slipped completely off his shoulders. Tony took a sharp breath, attempting to seem absentminded and completely unbothered, drumming his fingers on the light wooden surface of the table. He suddenly took great interest in the carvings on it, following a thin curve with the tip of his finger. 

“Something bothering you, Anthony mine?” 

It was at that point Tony decided Loki was a complete and utter ass, and a snake, and a slippery bitch, and a tricky lil shit, and - to quote Anastasia Steele, in relation to one Mr. Christian Grey: “Adonis, divinely formed”; or Oscar Wilde in the picture of Dorian Gray: “this young Adonis, who looks as if he was made out of ivory and rose-leaves”.

“Why, lover, nothing at all.”

Loki rose from his chair, wine glass in hand. He let his sheet fall to the floor with a soft rustle, and walked up to Tony. He turned Tony's chair towards himself, with Tony still sitting, without any difficulty. He then laid his wine glass on the table and, with a devious smile, sat on Tony's knees. Tony always thought Norse gods must be heavier, yet with Loki it was apparently not the case.

Loki slipped a finger inside Tony's blouse, and slowly pushed it down, along with his robe. He then repeated the process on his other shoulder, moving his finger with the same excruciating movements, sometimes allowing his nail to gently ignite Tony's skin. Tony didn't want to breathe, didn't wish to speak, only feel. He wondered if Loki made everyone feel like this, like they could never starve or wither, as long as their skin touched. 

Loki leaned in, placing his lips under Tony's ear, softly kissing his skin, drawing his lips along his vein and deeply breathing. His hands found their way to Tony's waist, caressing. 

Suddenly and without warning, with another wave of magic, Loki sent them flying into the nearest cabinet, rose to his knees on Tony's chair, and kissed Tony's neck once more, intensely. He raised his sparkling eyes to look upon Tony, and hissed in his ear.

“You should dress properly, Anthony Stark, we have a feast to attend.”

Tony was going to get serious whiplash.

~~

Later, when Tony decided he wants to wear an Earthly suit, and not Alfheimian formal wear that was provided for him by a servant, largely out of spite, Loki realized he cannot maintain his guise of dramatic tension anymore, and magicked Tony a suit. Tony looked at himself in a dusty mirror they uncovered behind a patterned sheet, and saw he was wearing a wine red shirt with the top two buttons open, a black three-piece suit and matching red rimless sunglasses. And his heels. He smiled to himself in the mirror. 

He tried very hard to pretend this was no different from any Earthly event he had to attend, and that the social mingling wouldn't be anything new to him, and would in fact come naturally - but that simply wasn't the case. He knew nothing of Alfheim, or its culture, and mostly feared he would end up ridiculed because of culture shock. Underhanded insults delivered in obscure pop-culture speak and jargon were usually _his_ forte. 

He decided this was a thing he simply needed to lunge into, head-first, and in case of disaster, blame it on Loki. While he was busy reflecting, Loki changed. He wore a dark cape reaching his calves, and there were layers of emerald gathering around his elbows, where his arms peeked through full-length slits. Tony could see he was wearing a slightly unbuttoned leather jerkin underneath, and whatever those enormous bell-sleeves were from, along with a plain white poet shirt. 

Then, when the mage stepped forward, Tony noticed a strip of leather peek through the waves of fabric.

"Do you have a dagger strapped to your thigh?"

Loki smiled deviously, lifting his foot on a small stool, confirming Tony's suspicions. He could see a leather sheath, and a gold ornate handle.

"… and what if I do?"

Tony rolled his eyes, muttering curses.

"Why won't the sweet embrace of death claim me already?"

"Did you know that in Elizabethan times, a death, or more commonly, a small death - _la petite mort_ \- used to be a synonym for sexual climax?"

Tony nearly dropped his bottle of hair gel (obtained through sources that should not be questioned) and the aforementioned shard of glass.

"Speak French again and I will maul you. Actually, I will maul you if you don't. And _how do you even know that?_ Did you spend your space viking 20s running around Elizabethan London making inappropriate jokes?"

Tony was mostly speaking to himself, expecting Loki to tell him off for making absurd assumptions, or drawl something similar to Norse-god-above-the-meek-mortal-realm-of-Midgard, yet Loki was silent while he handed Tony his gel and glass shard, which he caught in mid-air.

“ _No._ Fucker! Tell me you didn't!”

Loki was suppressing a smile, maintaining a mock-version of his famed poker face. When he spoke, he was smiling. 

“Well, I could say that, but then I would be lying. Shakespeare had to have _someone_ to write all those sonnets about!”

Tony was staring blankly.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” He finished the final touches of his hairdo. “I would like you to know I will not let it go. _You_ \--- interstellar scoundrel, have things to answer for.”

Lok rolled his eyes and began making his way to the wooden door of their small overnight room.

“Can we leave for the feast now? It would not be wise to arrive late to a royal feast.”

Tony scoffed, and sat on their table, gesturing for Loki to join him.

“That is absolutely true. Which is exactly why we will arrive at the precise moment where we are late enough for everyone to pay attention to our arrival, already seated, but a second before it becomes disrespectful enough so that we lose all good graces with whoever sits at the head of the table.” Loki smirked, perhaps only a little bit impressed, and sat opposite Tony. “Also, I have questions.”

“You truly are that determined to set all eyes on yourself the second you walk through that door, aren't you?”

“You know who I am, sweetheart. Now, can I ask? Pretty please?”

“Alright, yes, go on.”

Tony cracked his knuckles.

“What does Ormstunga mean? Also, is there a difference in gravitational pull between here and Earth? And related to that, how, _exactly_ , does having two suns and two moons affect a planet and specifically, its motion? Details, please. Unrelated, what did Hylas mean with you 'knowing the way' to contact Varka? Is there a mage-only Whatsapp group I am not aware of? If you answer 'magic' I can and will kick you off the edge of the planet. And, how is it that we are in a completely different realm and yet I am able to breathe and talk to people, and all the food is more-less the same? And is there any etiquette I absolutely must know if I don't wanna embarrass myself, and/or be sentenced to death? And how are you even alive, I thought you were stabbed through the chest with a spear end?”

Tony breathed out.

“Obviously, I have more but I figured this would be enough for a first run.”

Loki spent the whole time glaring at him from under his eyebrows, his smirk gradually widening, until he laughed in delight. Tony expected him to simply not answer, perhaps mutter something about idiocy, or flat-out smite him, but he did not expect Loki to lean back in his chair, smile, and answer, in order.

“Ormstunga means serpent-tongue. The Midgardians who worshipped our family had all sorts of epithets for their gods. I was awarded with the one which did absolutely nothing for my growing reputation, however, the rest of the realms thought it was _fun_ , and I've been called it ever since.”

Tony snorted as he imagined a nickname sticking in the whole universe because a tribe of viking pagans decided their god needs an adjective. Loki continued.

“Furthermore, yes, there is, but only very slight. I trust you noticed you feel lighter. 

Alfheim is not _one_ planet, it is a system of three planets and several asteroids, two of which are large and rounded enough to be considered moons, by your standards. The planet we are currently residing on is the largest in size, and the richest in mineable materials, which is why this is where the court is located. Their individual orbits around the twin suns are extremely complex and would take hours to fully comprehend. (at this, Tony muttered a “Try me, Maleficent.”) _Despite that,_ I _will_ tell you this - think about how molecules work, and try not to comprehend anything in an overly materialistic, solid and unmoving sort of a way. The universe is very strange, and often makes no sense at all.”

He looked at Tony in a way that pretty much dared him to ask, to interrupt even further. He held his ground, storing all information for later.

“Hylas simply meant that if I wished to, I could contact them by magical means. There isn't a Whatsapp group, but if there were, I would make sure you are included. I can astral project, or leave a letter on his desk, or anything else within my capabilities. Or simply call a servant.”

It took tony several seconds to realize Loki called him a mage, in a roundabout sort of a way. He cleared head of all the thoughts that knowledge inspired, forcing himself to listen and pay attention.

“The Nine Realms are connected via Yggdrasil, and share similar living conditions. We have our differences, but we were made to coexist, much like the continents of Midgard. The languages _are_ different, but I have placed upon you the charm of Allspeak. It allows you to understand and fluently speak languages known to Asgard. I hope you will forgive me for that small intrusion.”

Tony nodded, not overly surprised, as he already suspected something similar was at work.

“As for social etiquette, it is generally not so different in formal events around the Realms, so you should be alright with what you know of Earth customs. And if you do make a mistake, Alfheim is very fond of travellers, and will take your culture shock for a reasonable explanation. You will not be executed for using the wrong cutlery, do not worry. Having said that, there is one thing you should pay attention to. Do _not_ , under any circumstances, mention the princess. Your head will be off your neck quicker than you open your mouth so return a clever comment.

And usually, such a wound cannot kill me, but my magic was exhausted from time being held captive. Odin's cells block most magic. I was the one to construct them, after all, so I am quite certain there are no accidental faults. So I died. Then I came back. I never stay dead for very long.”

Tony clicked his tongue, thinking about how much he values his life, and how much he is desperate to squeeze as much groundbreaking science out of Loki.

“Sooo… I am going to assume I'm allowed at least a little bit of, you know, follow up.”

“Bold assumption.”

“Yes, it is. Now. Why did you say I'm a mage? And did you make a deal with the devil, some immortality in exchange for eternal service bullshit trick deal, or are you just being purposefully cryptic? And please, can I know about the princess? Just to… know what to avoid?”

Loki's brow furrowed, and he appeared to be at least slightly taken aback. Then, he composed himself and a knowing smile replaced previous uncertainty.

“There was no deal with the devil, more of a… mutual tentative agreement. Most people do not wish to see their father die, I used my life as a bargaining chip far too often for her comfort, so she crossed me off the waiting list of souls.”

“Alright. I will not think about the implications behind that too much and assume I understand what you've said, and you will continue.”

Loki was thoughtful for a few seconds, then slightly tilted his head towards Tony.

“I suppose it is fair. Most know the tale, anyway.”

He unfolded his hands from under his chin and snapped his fingers. Green smoke filled the air, spreading and unfurling until it settled above the table. As Loki began to speak, it swirled and illustrated scenes from his tale.

“Her name was Inyat, she was the only daughter of king Vragovin, and a famed tactician. His wife died while giving birth to Hylas, some years later, and if he wasn't bitter before, he was then. Many people thought he used his daughter as a pawn, and more thought he only valued her logical mind as a thing to exploit. Their hearts are softer to him now, but perhaps he grieves for more than her death. Norns know there is much regret in a life of a ruler, no matter how noble they are.”

Tony was already fully engrossed, marvelling at how Loki's eyes glowed gold, and the scenes before him disappeared as quickly as they were created. He held his palm open towards the air, and as he moved his fingers like a weaver over their cloth, the images switched.

“There was another king, as well. His name was Veles, and he was Vragovin's brother, second in line to the throne.” Loki chuckled. “I am certain you know how the tale goes already. He left, bitter and filled with hatred, cursing all gods and rulers of the Nine Realms and their ancient ways. Perhaps only there, he was not entirely wrong. His life before Vragovin even became king was long and eventful, and far from painless. He felt betrayed.”

A sad look passed over Loki's features. Tony thought that perhaps, it was regret, or reminiscence, but he couldn't be certain. Loki continued, unfazed.

“He made a fortune trading in all sorts of stolen goods, animate and inanimate, on the edges of Knowhere. That is about the time he began calling himself a King. A king of trickster merchants, or thieves lurking in the dark.” He pointedly grinned in Tony's direction. “Perhaps you would like him. Perhaps some of his arms were once yours.”

A shiver ran down Tony's spine, and he had a distinct feeling that Loki knew everything about him, and what kept him up at night. The mage only continued his tale, the swirls of his magic sparkling and exploding into the air.

“Somehow, he thought he could form an army great enough to steal Vragovin's crown. He was obsessed with the idea of creating an army of perfect soldiers, obeying his every whim. You see, Veles was a broken man. Per Odin's request, the Norns ripped his soul off the branches of Yggdrasil, making him weak, short-lived and without any anchor in this world. He extended his life by artificial means, leaving his body wretched and depending on heavy machinery to sustain him. I'm certain you can picture what he is like, based on the frenzy of late-stage capitalism paired with an unavoidable sense of existential dread your species seems to currently experience. All those fears of extinction via your own digital creation… imagine it personified."

Tony knew what Loki meant, considering how often people warned his own creations will be the end of humanity. He felt strange, finding himself on the other end of the comparison. He pushed it all down and muttered something containing the words “Asgard”, “imperialism” and “propaganda”. Loki ignored him.

“He craved an army. An equally perverted, soulless and guiltless army. So, he turned his gaze back to Alfheim, and Inyat. There were better candidates, some would even be amenable to subject their body and mind to king Veles and his machinery of their own free will. But, he was driven by familial revenge as much as a greed to conquer. It was not hard to take her, as Vragovin became sloppy in his old age, and thought the universe was as stagnant as he."

"People only guess about what truly happened in the dark chambers of his large, clanking ship, but what he tried, failed. Depends on who tells the tale, he either tried to mould her into a perfect soldier, isolate all the things that made her Alfheim's most competent general, multiply and breed those same genetic settings into the well-oiled metal minds of his army, or he attempted to push electrodes in her brain, force her to navigate his entire army from one darkened chamber, or perhaps kill her and use only her brain as an organic hard-drive. All that is known is that she was tortured, horribly, and died, and that many people tried to do what he did, and all failed. The ship exploded and whatever kept Veles alive did too. When Odin told me and Thor the tale, he liked to end by saying some believe he still exists. As a spirit, or a few short lines of computer code, waiting for his moment to emerge."

By the end of his tale, Loki's projections turned red and bloody, and Tony was deep in his mind, the projections ingrained into his memories. He felt decidedly less viciously cocky now, and the decaying court now only filled him with second-hand regret.

He quickly blinked several times, and got up from his chair, nearly stumbling. A bittersweet tension hung in the air.

“We should go.”

Loki hummed.

“I believe that is enough for you to know what to avoid, isn't it?”

“Quite. We did say we won't be _too_ late. I think our deadline is approaching.” 

They walked towards the door in silence, until, just before finally stepping out, Loki turned to him.

“Would you like to wear a cape? Perhaps your suit won't be as extravagant as you desire, and I would hate it if you ended up blandly dressed.”

“Oh, of course, yes.”

Loki snapped his fingers and Tony felt a heavy fabric hanging off his shoulders. He swirled a little, then made his way to their (slightly blurry) mirror. The cloak was thick and structured, the dark fabric reached his calves. On his shoulders, it was held by ornate gold buckles, connected by three thin chains across this chest. When he passed his fingers across the fabric, he felt a delicate embroidered pattern across its entire surface.

“I think we're ready now.”

Loki grinned.

“I would say so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did intend to write the feast in this chapter, but the convo ran away from me and I was at cca 3700 words already, so I decided to put it in the next one. The tale of Inyat is largely inspired by fragments of the plot of Once Upon a Time (In Space) by the Mechanisms

**Author's Note:**

> i apologise for any possible mistakes, feel free to point anything out !


End file.
